


Megatron

by GreyLiliy



Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One), Transformers Generation One
Genre: Character Study, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-21
Updated: 2014-07-21
Packaged: 2021-03-01 23:54:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,316
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23675716
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GreyLiliy/pseuds/GreyLiliy
Summary: Megatron has lived.
Kudos: 7





	Megatron

**Author's Note:**

> [First posted to Tumblr on July 21, 2014 as “Megatron.” Crossposted to Archive of Our Own on April 15, 2020. Original notes have been kept.]
> 
> Pretty sure I’m going to be RP'ing Megatron this week, so I’m trying to get back into the groove of writing for him. Having a hard time coming up with a solid, full fic idea, so here’s a few disconnected, possibly out of order & mixing continuities, drabbles from Megatron’s POV instead. It’s pretty tame: PG at most, character exploration for my favorite Warlord.

Dirt and rock between his fingers, dust in the joints. They ground and hissed in his audio inputs like a comforting norm as he brushes away the particles too small for his pick and too close to the precious fuel. The Energon comes free, shining through even the scrapes of dull metal and rock. He holds it, rubbing his finger along the side. So much work, for so little.

Megatron is young.

Crushing heads, and ripping off limbs. Megatron barely feels a twitch of his face, the motions come to him as naturally as if he were transforming. Fighting is easy. He is strong, from years in the dirt and toiled labor. This is nothing. Energon on his face, spilled at his feet. Just another form of getting one’s hands dirty.

Earth reminds Megatron more of home than he’d ever like to admit. No wonder Prime is so desperate to save it. They let their own planet die, why not try to save this one? Megatron watches the fish swim by his window, humming lightly. “No sense it making it easy for him, now would it?”

Starscream could make fun of it all he wanted. Megatron thought to himself, listening to the jet complain even as he scraped himself off the floor. But that Purple Griffin was still the best thing Megatron had ever forced the Constructicons to make. And the next person to take a crack at it would wish Megatron had just killed them.

Soundwave had advised against it. Shockwave, too. Starscream was too starstruck at the time to really consider telling Megatron it was stupid (though now he had no qualms with trying to squeeze in an insult here or there on the decision). “You’ll lose your mobility in alt-mode!” had been the biggest argument. “You’ll be forced to rely on someone else to even fire yourself!” was the second. The word “Foolish” was even flung around, in a rare moment of back talk from his most loyal. None of the arguments stopped him, and Megatron changed his alt mode from mining equipment to a gun with no hesitation or regret.

Megatron adored being a gun.

The limitations of his alt-mode caused trouble here and there (being trapped on that blasted Cobra Commander’s belt for months is an embarrassment he’ll long remember), but the benefits outweighed it’s flaws. The space-shifting made him easy to fit in any hand, be it Starscream’s slim fingers, or Soundwave’s tight grip–he could even fit in a human’s if he so desired (and oh, the delicious look on Prime’s face when a human used Megatron to shoot him in the back).

Guns were simple. Sure, the mechanics that made them function had a bit of creative engineering to them, but at their core–they were simple. Pull a trigger, fire ammunition–be it a bullet or a lazer blast. Simple. Megatron appreciated that.

Soundwave lived on knowledge. Knowing the unknown and making sure he knew every bit of dirt and grime in a mech’s life. Whether to just keep his database up to date, or to use as blackmail–No, it was both. He craved knowledge, and using it against someone was only a benefit. Megatron let him have his hobbies, happy to know he was an eternal frustration to the quiet mech. Soundwave was his most loyal, and one of his highest ranking officers, not out of honest, personal loyalty–no, no. He wanted to find out Megatron’s secrets. The warlord pat him on the back, and told him good job on gathering intel. The joke was on the boombox: Megatron didn’t have any.

Who had time for such complicated nonsense? Let the senators and their kin have secrets and hide. Let Starscream scheme and Shockwave have his personal projects. Megatron held to a different philosophy: If you had to hide it, it was nothing but trouble. His life was complicated enough without basic frames hiding in his storage.

The Autobots had disguised themselves as the Stunticons and tried to infiltrate his base. Megatron frowned, the snarl and pout fighting each other from dominance. And they had the nerve to call his Griffin dumb.

Boredom was a horrific mistress. It did things to your head. Which is why, with his face in his hand and a light wave with the other, Megatron found himself easily approving Soundwave and Starscream’s latest scheme to run a human night club.

Megatron should probably feel for his dying planet. He cried in trimuph as he smashed an Autobot’s head into the ground, denting the metal streets attached to crumbling buildings. The destruction ravaged everything, making it near unidentifiable as a dwelling at some point. And yet, Megatron felt no remorse, firing his canon through another Autobot’s chest, the blast continuing through him and taking down a structural beam. The entire structure fell, taking the entirety of the cowering Autobots within down with it. Let the planet burn. This was too much fun!

The first time Starscream called him an idiot, Megatron had stared for a full minute in concentration. Taking it as silent permission, Starscream continued to explain just why Megatron was a fool. The warlord took another minute to process this information, before punching him into the ground. Megatron walked away more relieved than anything; it was about time that idiot put his brain to use for something other than flattery.

The space bridge opened to Cybertron, and Megatron took foot on his home planet for the first time in years. Every rock, and crumbing building exactly as he had left it oh so long ago when he chased the Arc into space with his Nemesis. Megatron breathed in the air, and grinned. Just as he’d left it. Megatron would have to give Shockwave a raise.

Megatron was curious if anything would ever top Kremzeek. He’d never seen Optimus Prime want to murder something so badly in his life. Megatron was almost jealous. Prime had never tried to kill him with that much rage.

Another thing Megatron would never admit: He enjoyed watching the fish swim by his window. It was relaxing, Primus dammit!

Humans were young. Their entire lifespans wouldn’t even make it halfway through a Cybertron’s infancy. And yet they matured much faster. Adults and old men by the time a Cybertronian had downloaded his first work protocol. It was a baffling phenomenon. Time made fools of everyone, no matter where you were from.

Megatron was in over his head. Oh, Primus was he in over his head. There was so much Energon everywhere and he hadn’t meant to. He hadn’t meant to. Why was everyone dying? Megatron’s vents cycled too heavily, he couldn’t think straight. And would those blasted cassettes shut up!

He sat, looking at the carnage one simple action had created. From miner to gladiator to ruler. Soundwave by his side, Seekers in the air, and Shockwave supporting. Megatron was in over his head; he might drown under it all. Crushed by the weight. Megatron breathed in, filtering through the dirt and the dust flying in the air from all the wreckage. It was familiar. Megatron sat up straighter, and exalted.

If you’re going to drown anyway, why not jump in head first?

Children. All of them. Megatron was surrounded by spoiled brats. And Starscream was by no means the worst offender. For Primus’ sake. Who sells all of their siblings for spare parts and human money?

Hands in the dirt, crawling back up to land another blow against an opponent who finally knows how to hit back. Dirt and rock between his fingers, dust in the joints. They ground and hissed in his audio inputs like a comforting norm he had long forgotten. They fell away as his canon raises, the hum of power burning in his hear and hissing like grinding flakes of metal.

Megatron is old, but he was still living.


End file.
